Tug of War.

Aphid petioles bloom to beryl morn. 

Dragonfly vaults, empyreal blushing

Playfully veiling a daffy lapse

To the foreordained.

It all feeds on a downfall

Crumbling down, thus and so doomed and sentenced,

And not just from dissent.

«Acta est fabula, plaudite!», I scrawl on chalky poles.

Someone please free me.

What if this cruise appeases in my rapture?

Will my indulgence fog upon its blow?

For I fall out into the boondocks

Of the boonies which once bred on fields of yen.

Ah, the grieving!

The tender twinge of stinging yearning!

Hitherto lofty grounds of mishmash rust.

Glistering streams of raindrops staining curses

With allurement.

Farewell!

My airiness is luscious,

A pomegranate empress

Embraces me in glorious arms of latitude,

Enlivening me.

Amaranthine. 

I close my aphid petioles which once bloomed to beryl morn,

Wind twirls inside my never-ending core.

Someone just called my name

Imploring me to cease

A tug of war in a rapture

On a cruise that won't appease.

Up with my frosty haze,

My epicenter pounds in swanlike hauteur,

I am an hypersonic glint,

Humongous in a vastness I now fondle.

Please

Someone please let me out!

My deathwatch's burlesque and milky walls,

Encumber words I hotly rend on them.

And hence I feel enlivened, 

Ethereal in the arms

Of pomegranate empresses who free me.

And someone calls my name,

Restraining me in stinging yearning.

They urge me to stay back, por favor, please, s'il vous plaît, bitte.

Yet all recrudescence I now rebound,

Are words: «acta est fabula, plaudite».

Addah Monoceros.

©2004.